


firm and unshakable belief

by howlingheartdemigod (helpmeimstuckon)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Fire, Needles, Poison, Psychological Torture, Resurrection Ritual, Torture, but terrible, character death is temporary, i wrote this when dealing with a complicated grief, i'm sure there are things i'm not thinking of, knife torture, so. there's that as an explination, the rest is depressing, the resurection ceremony is cute, the torture scene is v much dead dove dne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:13:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23240779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helpmeimstuckon/pseuds/howlingheartdemigod
Summary: “Beauregard!” He screamed out, hoping she’s just been flung farther from the explosion, from Astrid’s spell, from his mistakes.The response of the trees around them was to continue to creek. The wind rustled the grasses, and picked up some of the ash. No one called back.-Beauregard is taken from the nein. the nein do what they can to solve that problem.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 15
Kudos: 238





	firm and unshakable belief

**Author's Note:**

> originally a prompt fill for honorary-asexual on tumblr  
> "beau is kidnapped and tortured by trent ikihon (because she is part of the cobalt soul and close to caleb maybe?). yasha loses it when she comes back to the mighty nein to find that beaus been kidnapped. bonus points if you include caleb losing his shit as well because his abuser has his little sister. (and if you want to go REAL angsty: “you have to convince the soul to come back to its body” “that’s fine! of course beau will want to come back! right?!......right?”)"  
> thank you  
> originally written and posted pre episode 89
> 
> title from [-319] of @asoftersea on tumblr

Caleb does a head count after the fight, soaked with rain and mud. It’s a habit, but it feels especially necessary this time. He does a head count as the magic of the teleport fades away. It takes him a second, in his pain addled state, to realize he is one short. Nott, one, Jester, two, Caduceus, three, Fjord, four, Yasha, five, Beau…

“Beauregard!?” Caleb hauled himself to his feet. His friends had all been blasted this way and that. Jester was already hobbling to a bleeding Fjord’s side. They didn’t see yet, see that they were a member short yet again. “Beauregard!” He screamed out, hoping she’s just been flung farther from the explosion, from Astrid’s spell, from his mistakes. 

The response of the trees around them was to continue to creek. The wind rustled the grasses, and picked up some of the ash. No one called back. 

He looked to Jester, who had a hand over Fjord’s bleeding stomach, who’s wide eyes were starting to search along with his. He looked to Nott, who was pulling herself upright, who was looking around, panic on her face, the fear of losing her family bubbling up yet again. 

He looked to Yasha, who was pulling herself from the ground, who was looking at him with pain in her eyes, scared of what he was going to say. 

“Caleb?” Caduceus’ voice called out, nearer than Caleb had realized. A large hand set softly on his shoulder. “Did you see what happened?”

Caleb’s eyes scanned the charred earth, the clearing they’d been camping in nearly unrecognizable, still smoldering. His eyes scanned the trees, some branches charred, but no longer burning. His eyes scanned the clouded sky, wishing for some kind of answer to a prayer he couldn’t even put in words within his mind. 

None came. 

Caleb dropped his eyes to Yasha, swallowing. “They took her.” He rasped. “Ikithon has Beau.” 

The silence rang out, as the Nein felt the pain of loss, yet again.

-

Beau woke up strapped to a chair, because of course this mother fucker was that fucking cliche. She took a sharp breath in, keeping her eyes shut as she ran her mind through what she knew. They’d been fighting Ikithon and lackeys. They’d been winning. Caleb was struggling. Then, boom, then yank, then woosh, then darkness. Then sleep, but Beau didn’t wake rested. 

“Morning, little monk.” The voice was only slightly familiar. Accented like Caleb’s, but not Ikithon. She considered keeping her eyes shut, her head down, but she knew she was made, and figured pissing off her captor, maybe wasn’t a good idea. 

Tilting her head back, popping her jaw, Beau took a long breath, then fixed her eyes on the hulking form across from her. The man was tall, bulky, older than Caleb had remembered. Which made sense, of course.

It’d been over a decade since Caleb had seen his old friend. She still recognized him. His dark hair was cropped tighter, his eyes lined with small wrinkles, his skin was scared and calloused. It was easier to tell in this light, than when they’d seen him before. She hadn’t paid enough attention then. Had no choice now. “Eodwulf, right?” She stretched a little at the waist, bonds holding her arms and legs tight, and gave him a once over. “I was hoping you wouldn’t be quite so much of a bitch.” 

The back hand she received was unexpected, seeing as he’d just been on the other side of the room. And fuck, did it hurt. _‘Isn’t this guy supposed to be a wizard?’_

“You’re not going to say anything unless you’re asked a question.” He told her face all too close for Beau’s liking. She spit a little, the taste of blood in her mouth from where her cheek had broken on her teeth sharp and biting. 

“Big man likes to hit things, but wouldn’t stand a chance if I wasn’t tied up.” she muttered, glaring eyes looking back at him. The blow to the stomach was less impressive. There had been magic behind the first, she figured. She hoped. He wouldn’t want to blow through spells hurting her. She wasn’t worth that. She knew that. 

“Only if you’re asked a question.” She heard the creaking of a door behind her, echoing in the circular stone space, bouncing off the high ceiling. 

“And believe me,” a softer voice, female, accent clear and familiar. Astrid moved around, eyes fixed on Beau all the way, running her hands over a blue cloth, thumb tracing careful detailing. “We have many, many questions, expositor.” 

Astrid threw Beau’s own belt at her, Beau flinched minutely, watching it fall to her lap, the carefully gold embroidered prayer to Ioun glinting in the dim light.

Beau lifted her eyes to Astrid, jaw clenched. “Well, this is gonna be shit for you, isn’t it?”

-

Yasha felt numb. Felt cold. This was all her fault. That kept ringing around her head. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. She stared at the ground, where the skin gorger dug into the ground next to her, and shuddered. After everything, after fighting inside of her own mind, to get back, to win the fight, and turn around and loose Beau. It felt like something was conspiring against her. She lifted her eyes to where Jester was setting out her scrying ritual, where Nott was whispering to Fjord quietly, who was responding quickly, low voice too distant for her to hear. She looked over to Caduceus, who was distracting himself reorganizing his pack. She saw him linger on something, then continue moving, putting things carefully away, nodding a bit. She pulled her eyes away, moving them to Caleb. Caleb who hadn’t spoken since sinking to the ground where he stood, Caleb who looked like Yasha felt. Caleb, who, she was sure, felt wracked with guilt about this. 

‘ _Good_ ,’ The quiet, cruel part of her mind called out. ‘ _His people did this. His people took her from you_.’

‘ _No_.’ Yasha’s head shook. ‘ _We are his people. We are his people and he is ours. And we will get her back_.’ 

Yasha lifted her eyes back to Caleb, her gaze catching his. He held his gaze steady, an apology behind them. Yasha, trembling from the rage still burning below the surface, took a careful breath, and forced herself to move. She dragged herself across the space, fighting against the part of her that wanted to stay still until she knew where to go, until she knew who to kill. She dropped down next to Caleb, eyes on the ground. Skin Gorger laid next to her, and she let her fingers dig into the mud, the scent of rain thick in the air, even with the clouds no longer pouring. 

“You got me back. We get her back.” Yasha said, nodding a bit. “Right?”

The silence stretched on so long Yasha feared it wouldn’t end. A hand fell on her shoulder. She looked over to the wizard, squinting. His eyes were still hazed over, his skin pale, but there was a conviction in the set of his jaw, the furrow of his brow. “We get her back.” 

Yasha nodded, and looked back to Jester as she settled down, eyes closed to cast her scry, to find Beau, so they could go and bring her home. 

-

“You’re the idiots who knowingly kidnapped a member of the Cobalt Soul.” Beau’s voice was sharp, taunting, even through the shallow breaths she was now taking. Astrid was good with a blade, it turned out, good at making careful shallow cuts, inflicting pain but not letting Beau get so hurt she blacked out. Can’t interrogate an unconscious person. Beau snarled at her. “Sucks for you you didn’t realize part of the training is knowing when to keep our mouths shut.” 

Astrid’s face twisted with anger, and her knife plunged into Beau’s side, deeper than she’d gone before. “If only you would remember that training.” She replied, twisting the blade, before pulling back at the sound of Beau’s cry. “This isn’t working.” Astrid clearly wasn’t addressing her, but Beau let out a broken laugh anyway. 

“No shit.” She snapped, head tilting back. 

Astrid let out an annoyed shout, slashing Beau across the cheek. Beau hissed, head tilting with the knife, keeping it from cutting to deep. She was starting to learn the patterns, the way Astrid held a blade. Hopefully it would be enough to keep from bleeding out for a while. “Explain or suffer. Why were you working with the Bright Queen? What elements of crick magic have you seen? What does Bren know?” She punctuated each question with a thumb dug into a cut on Beau arm, digging in, pulling the flesh. Beau looked up at the ceiling, seeing spots. 

After Beau let out a broken cry of pain. After Astrid let up, Beau met her gaze. “I don’t know anyone named Bren.” She managed through gritted teeth. “Fuck you.”

Astrid swung back, but before she could slash Beau again, the door behind her swished open, sending the room into near silence.

Without even looking, Beau knew that bastard had entered the room. The energy shifted, Astrid going from proud and angry, to submissive, hands at her sides, blade tucked away, eyes wide. Childlike. It made her sick, seeing this woman, a woman Caleb cared about despite how truly garbage she was, looking up like a kid, idolizing and naive. 

The cuts on Beau’s body reminded her that Astrid was anything but innocent. As Ikithon rounded the chair, his eyes were fixed on Beau, frowning, scowling. Pride welled up in Beau, looking at his sour face, knowing she’d been the one to crack his composure. 

“Enough then.” He said, squinting at him. “Hurting you isn’t working. Well have to find some other motivation.” He looked to Astrid. “make yourself appear as that… tiefling." 

Astrid, without hesitation, moved her hands to cast, then before Beau stood Jester. No, no not Jester, too still, too angry. Astrid. It was just Astrid wearing Jester’s face. Beau swallowed, dropping her gaze.

"Yes this will do.” She heard Ikithon say. “look here, Expositor, I want to show you something.” When Beau did not respond she felt her jaw gripped from behind, Eodwulf pulling her head back, forcing her compliance. “better.” Ikithon’s smile appeared, twisted and cold. “Now, let’s begin.” With that, he produced a knife,and dug it into Jester’s stomach, and Beau, unable to stop herself, let out a scream. 

-

Jester’s eyes shot open, hands pressing flat into the ground. Caleb scanned her as she took a sharp breath in, eyes scanning them all. “He has her.” She said, eyes on Caleb. “She’s in a room, round, tall ceiling.” Jester’s breath caught. “She’s all hurt, they’re cutting her up.” Caleb wanted to comfort Jester, wanting to put a hand on her shoulder. Wanted to help somehow. He couldn’t. He felt like he was back in that room, felt like he was trapped again. Tied down, knives and crystals near by, being told he was weak if he couldn’t keep it together. He took a sharp breath, eyes dropping. The sound of the voices around him started to blot out, sounding like he was under water. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He felt so cold, so freezing. The stone beneath his feet was was cold. 

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he yanked back, eyes lifting to meet Fjord’s. “Hey, Caleb. It’s alright. You’re alright.” Fjord’s voice was low, was careful. Caleb took a breath, eyes lifting, flicking around. “Do you know where she is?” 

Caleb nodded. 

“Can you get us there?” Yasha spoke up, hand on her blade. 

Caleb met her eye, the conviction there, and nodded. 

Yasha nodded. “Let’s go then.” 

Caleb started drawing a teleportation circle, brow furrowed, and he could hear arguments about rest, and spells, and how hurt everyone already was. He could not be bothered to listen. Fuck all of that. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if he didn’t hold on to his family. He looked up, a brief pause in his scrawling, and caught Yasha’s eye again. She was standing, arms crossed, looking entirely unamused by Fjords concerns of working themselves to death when she glanced over. Caleb swallowed, then gave a nod, then went back to work. They had to get her back. There was no choice about it. 

-

After Astrid’s third one, Beau wondered if too many healing potions could mess up a person. She always got a tickle in her throat after. Not that they’d given her one, the opposite in fact. Apparently Eodwulf was getting bored and started making occasional cuts to her body, taking up Astrid’s previous place. Beau’s breath was coming shallow, and she was starting to feel really properly shit. She let her head tilt back, brow furrowing. 

“Face forward!” Ikithon’s voice was sharp, authoritative. 

Beau gritted her teeth, and bit her cheek. She already had blood in her mouth, but she managed to break skin again. She swirled it around in her mouth and lifted her head, then spat the blood in his face. 

Ikithon recoiled, letting out a noise of disgust. He paced away, digging a cloth from his pocket to wipe the blood away. “It doesn’t have to be like this Beauregard. I’m not an animal. You’re charged with treason, but it doesn’t need to get worse.” He looked down to her, squinting at him. “I will do what I can to make this easier for you.” 

“Go fuck yourself.” She shot back. “There’s nothing you can do to make me talk. And You’re gonna be so murdered by the Soul and I’m gonna haunt you and laugh.” She told him, flashing a bloody smile. She felt another slash into her side. 

Ikithon looked over to Astrid and hummed a little. “Then we’ll have to let you bleed out here.” He pulled a blade from his robes, and plunged it into Beau’s stomach. Beau pulled a gasp, hunching over. A hand slammed over her mouth, shoving a rag, coated in a bitter tasting liquid, farther than she could spit out easily, and a tie wrapped and tied it in place. Beau scowled, trying to shove the rag forward against the tie. She felt a pinch on her side, and looked over in time to see Eodwulf pocketing a syringe. She caught his gaze for a second, and searched for something more than apathy behind his eyes. In the moment she thought she may have seen a glimmer of it, he turned away, the others following quickly. She glared at Ikithon as he left, a horrible smile on his face. 

She dropped her eyes, swallowing around the rag, and closing her eyes as the door shut. She took a broken sigh through the cloth jammed in her mouth, eyes pooling with tears. She didn’t know she could let anymore fall. She’d watched each of her friends tortured near to death. She couldn’t get the vision of Caleb, crystals jammed deep into his skin, into his sides, into his neck, into his face, bleeding on the ground, out of her mind. She took a careful breath and pushed it away, but it was quickly replaced by the image of Yasha, brave strong Yasha, with a blade in her stomach, another poised at her throat. Ikithon was good at causing cuts that were just capable of being healed up. Just short of killing his precious wizard who allowed herself to be tortured for him, to hurt another. Beau opened her eyes to push the thoughts aside, trying to breathe, trying to focus. But Yasha still laid dying. She blinked, head shaking a little, but the only thing that changed were the dark tendrils coming off of Yasha’s body as she stared, rasping for breath at Beau. 

“You didn’t save me.” It accused. The specter rose, reaching to brush Beau’s hair back from her face. “You didn’t do enough to try.” The darkness swelled over Yasha’s shoulders, a feeling of burning sweetness welled up in Beau, and as the shadow crashed over her, she screamed. 

-

It took them a few hours, hours of panic and pain, hours of convincing enough people to convince enough people that murdering a high level member of the Cerberus Assembly was necessary. Hours of infiltrating. Hours of being surprised when Dairon, who they had not known to be in Rexxentrum, stepped out of shadows to join them. Hours of incapacitating and killing. Just one moment, of Caleb lifting a hand, centering it on an injured Archmage, and unleashing fiery death. It took them a while, but they checked the right corridor, opened the right door, and found Beauregard. 

They all held their breath for a moment, Jester dropped in front of the chair, searching for a pulse, Yasha kneeled at Beau’s right, eyes flicking from watching Jester to watching Beau. Jester pulled in a sharp breath, eyes pooling with tears. Yasha’s hand fell softy to Beau’s wrist, unbinding it, watching it try and slip and fall. She caught it carefully, pressing her thumb to a place where a beat refused to appear. Yasha let out a broken breath, gaze dropping. “Can you do anything?” she asked softly, looking to Jester. “Can you bring her back?”

“Back?” Nott repeated, fingers twitching for a flask hidden at her hip. 

Caleb crumpled feet behind Yasha, head shaking. He started cursing in Zemnian, fouler language than Yasha would care to learn from him. 

“I don’t…” Jester’s voice cracked a little. “I don’t know if I…” She took a breath, and started muttering holding her symbol. Her eyes flicked open a moment later, looking to Caduceus. “I can’t. I don’t. He says I don’t have what I need, but you can.” 

The Firbolg had been leaning on Fjord, holding a wound at his side, slowly healing from a quickly downed potion. He took a breath, nodding a bit He straightened up, moving to support himself on his staff instead. “I think you’re right. The Wildmother… She sent something new for me recently. But I can’t cast it until tomorrow.”

“Then lets get her out of here, shall we?” Fjord asked, dropping to a knee next to Jester, starting to untie Beau. Dairon helped, moving to untie the bind behind her head, undo the chains at her back. Yasha reached a shaking hand, and pulled the blade from her stomach, throwing it down. The metal clattered against the floor, the blood on it still thin enough to splatter. Yasha wanted to rage. Wanted to unfurl her terrible wings and kill. She wanted to tear limb from limb those who’d done this. she nearly did. She nearly ran to where she knew agents of the Soul were rounding up Vollstrecker in the building and go through them like a dog killing rats. The idea of letting them survive this, of giving them a pass because it was just what they were ordered made her want to rip them to bits so small they wouldn’t be found again. 

As Beau’s body slumped she reached to catch her, supporting her head. Death would have to wait. They needed to get Beau home, wherever that was anymore. They needed to get her home. They needed to try. 

Yasha looked to Caleb, as she cradled Beau like she was something too precious to put words to. “Where can we go?” she asked. “Where is safe?” 

She could see Caleb’s face flicker. She could see him want to say nowhere. She could see him want to return to fear and cruelty. She watched him push it aside. “We can go to Nicodranas.” He said, wiping his hands on his robes, starting to pat pockets to search for something. He started scribbling a circle without hesitation, brow pinched. 

Yasha looked to Caduceus, taking a breath. “How does it work?” she asked, trying to ignore the way she felt so cold, the way she felt so limp. 

Caduceus took a breath, dropping to brush Beau’s hair back. Yasha almost pulled away, kept him from causing her to rot away as he had with others slain. She managed to keep her paranoia at bay. He looked at Beau fondly. 

“You have to convince the soul to come back.” He explained. “You have to convince them to return to this side of the veil.” 

Jester broken the silence that occured, voice bright. “That’s fine! Of course Beau will want to come back, right?” Her gaze searched around, and found many eyes not willing to meet her own. “Right!?” She stressed. 

The silence spoke for itself, the air thick, as Caleb frantically scribbled, as Yasha watched Beau wishing she would sit up and say something snarky, as they waited, waited to see if the could tell Jester she was right after all.

-

To say that Caleb was familiar with death felt, to him, like an understatement. Caleb wasn’t just familiar with death. He and death had an intimate, deep relationship. It would sit on his shoulder often, or lay an arm around him, or cloak him with its shadow. It was a near constant, in his life and in his work. A consequence of his youthful naivete. He was beyond familiar with death, he knew it well. 

That didn’t, of course, mean much to death. Many knew death. Many found it visiting their home too often. Sometimes unexpected. Sometimes months later than expected. He knew some practically courted death, standing on cliff edges, begging it near. He wasn’t quite like that. He wouldn’t call it, but it’s name came from him often, a name he did not, could not, know. He called it when he conjured flame, when he reduced others to ash. He called it when he thought of his mother and father. He called it when he felt the pain of his life well up like a poison, when he nearly wanted it to take him. When he nearly took the dark gloved hand and walked away with it. 

He’d never called it’s name in prayer. He’d never called any name in prayer. He knew the Raven Queen was a busy God. They all were, he assumed. He knew the Raven Queen wouldn’t care about his friend, about the life she was taking. It was her job. It wasn’t something she did in cruelty. She shepherded them, taking them to the next place. She didn’t, he believed, do the moment of killing. She did not reap the souls. That was some other figure. Some other entity. Following her commands, taking those who needed to leave this plane to her, to move them elsewhere. 

Caleb didn’t call names in prayer. He didn’t know what that would look like. Jester’s were always muttering, full of giggles. Caduceus would speak in low tones, receiving answers on winds. Yasha always seemed to just go stand in the rain, something shouting at the clouds. Caleb didn’t know how to pray to the entity of death. Didn’t know what name to call, didn’t know what words to say. Sitting in a bedroom of the Lavish Chateau, Caleb did not know what words to say. He knew he would need to appeal to Beauregard herself the next day. But that didn’t feel like enough. He moved slowly, emptying his pockets, sorting his components, organizing them out. He swallowed, then started packing them up again, methodically, carefully, ensuring everything was there like one would sharpen a dagger, ensuring it would cut cleanly. He took a breath, looking out the window, searching the horizon for answers. He found none. So he dropped his eyes, snapped his cat to existence next to him, and spoke. 

“Hello, uh… You took a friend of mine today. Tomorrow we are going to try and bring her back. We… Well, you see, we need her. She is the best of us, in ways she does not know. She is the most… she is the first person who knew all I’ve done, and never once faltered in her faith of me. She is… She is my sister. I never had one before. I didn’t know I needed one,but I do. I need her back. And I know you can make no promises. I know you can give nothing that can not be, uh, taken away again through our own stupidity. But, well… Just don’t take her quite yet, if you could. Delay. Walk quite slowly, so she may hear us as we call. Let me call my sister back. I would promise you the same, if I could.”

Caleb went quiet, keeping his eyes down, letting them flick to Frumpkin, who mewed and butted against his leg. He let the words fade, thinking how very stupid it was to speak to someone who could not reply. 

A caw from the window lifted his gaze and he spotted it. A large, too large, black bird spreading its wings and fluttering away. Something drifted to the slowly down behind it, and Caleb pushed up to catch it an inch from the floor. In his hand was a single feather of the raven. Caleb swallowed, and went to join the vigil over his fallen friend, hoping he could take the visit and the gift as a promise.

-

Yasha carried Beau to the Circle Caduceus had drawn. He, it seemed, was the only one who’d slept right. Who’d slept well enough. For good reason, of course. She set Beau carefully in the middle of the runes, swallowing. Caduceus had carefully explained what they must do, told them all what was necessary, how to make this work. 

Dairon had, before he began casting, come to Beau and said a prayer, and anointed her with some kind of oil. They’d looked to Yasha, searching her face. There seemed to be words they wanted to say, that they didn’t say. They gave a nod, then moved to the edge of the room, arms crossing as the others gathered. 

Caduceus nodded once Yasha set her down, oh so carefully, and cast the last of it. She felt the energy in the room shift, change. The light seemed, not that of the shaded cloud filled sky outside, but of the dappled sky of a forest. The air smelled of the sea, more strongly, like they stood amidst it, and Caduceus let out a sigh. “alright.” He said. “Who would like to talk to her?”

There was a silence. They all could beg for her back. They all knew they all had something to say. No one wanted to deny another the chance. After a tense, searching pause, Nott moved closer, looking around as though she was checking that it was alright. No one protested. Nott dropped down next to Beau, and cleared her throat. “I, uh, I’m not good with words.” she said, hands working at Beau’s wrist. “But you are. Much better than I am. Who am I kidding, really, a wall is better than I am. But you’re… I need you here, to talk to me. I need you here to tell secrets to. To learn secrets from. To see absolutely no pay off from those secrets, to a frankly annoying level. I mean, come on, Beau…” Nott took a little breath, nodding. Yasha caught a glimpse of the jade bracelet Beau had once traded away for some simple wooden swords, and smiled. “I need you here. We’re better with you here. So come back, and be here for us. There are people here who love you, you asshole. I’m one of ‘em. And I need you here.” Nott swallowed, the look on her face showing she was afraid she’d messed up, then she backed away, sitting at the edge of the circle, flask in hand. 

There was a bit of silence, a shift in the air, and then the sound of waves crashing in the far distance. They lapsed back to quiet, everyone running through what they’d like to say, what they’d like to give. Jester searched her sketchbook, Fjord held tight to his symbol of the Wildmother, eyes hazy with worry. She heard a shuffle, and turned to watch Caleb drop next to Beau. Her heart ached to see him so pained, so scared. She swallowed back the feeling that this was all too familiar, in some way. They’d been here before, huddled around someone they loved. Her mind flashed to Molly, who’s goodbye she’d missed, to Caduceus, who Jester had saved so fast one wasn’t needed. They’d done this, but they’d never done this. It was familiar anyway. 

Caleb stared at Beau for a moment, taking a small sharp breaths. “We have, uh, both shown that we are bad at… feelings. Talking about them. We are both experts in the field of running away from those, messier parts of ourselves. So, I… I’m struggling to think of the right thing to say.” He put a hand on Beau’s shoulder, giving a squeeze. “I… I believe I once said ‘as much as I am able to have friends, I like you,’ and that was true. That was, at the time, what I believed. I didn’t get to have friends, not really. Until I did. And didn’t have any practice at the time. I didn’t know how to be around others, not well, I didn’t know how to care about others. But you, Beauregard, you took a look at all I laid before you, all the mess I was, I am, and all the worst messy parts of it, and you told me that I do not get to choose who cares for me. I didn’t realize it goes the other way. I did not choose to have you become my family, Beauregard. I didn’t choose for you to become so very important to me, but you did. I didn’t… the burden of family is the burden of loss. It’s the burden of worry. And I didn’t want that in my life. I didn’t believe I needed it. But I do. I need you back. You have become my sister. And the thing I feared the most about that exact risk happened. And I will never forgive myself for that, I don’t believe. But I want… I want to fix this, this one. I want to fix this thing. You asked me to do something for you, once upon a time. I’m asking for you to return the favor, and prove it by coming back. Believe in us, just this once.” He said, voice soft. “Believe in us.”

Caleb lingered as the magic shifted, air light seeming to dim, then grow, then become steady again. Caleb smiled, sad and broken, then pulled away. 

There was a moment of silence, of waiting, until Yasha realized no one else was going to speak, so she had to. Yasha moved, kneeling next to Beau, and took her hand. She thought for a while, eyes closing, she searched for something, anything, to help her voice what she needed to say. She looked down at Beau, and smiled. “I… I was lost from you all for a… for a very long time. And I was scared. I was scared that I wouldn’t see you again. Any of you, of course, but mostly you. Beau, I had many moments, when I was… there, when I felt as though the world was all darkness. And then I would sleep. And I would get to dream. And I would sometimes dream of home, sometimes of Zuala. And sometimes of Molly, and his colors. But most often, I would dream of you. You were my solace in that time. I should have told you, you are the reason I survived that. It’s you, Beau. It has been you. It has been looking at you, and knowing that I can’t. But it’s also looking at you now, and knowing I can’t not. It’s very unfair to you, to keep something like that from you. So I… I’m trying. I’m trying to tell you. I have been trying to tell you. I see you Beau, don’t let this be the last of you I see.” Yasha closed her eyes, fingers intertwined with Beaus, and said a silent prayer to the Storm Lord. To push let her come back, if he could help. To save her too. 

The storm that had been building outside crackled to life, lighting arcing across the sky, thunder following shortly. Yasha said a silent thanks. 

Caduceus’s magic swelled, spinning around them, and Beau lifted from the ground, but Yasha refused to let go. Not this time. She watched Beau’s body, in the beautiful dappled light, arch, the magic stretching along her, until she suddenly dropped, caught by some force just before the ground. Beau settled against the ground without a sound. There was a moment of stillness, then another. Then Beau breathed again, chest rising with a slight rasp. Yasha let out a laugh of pain, and pressed a hand to her cheek, healing her for all she could. Beau’s eyes flicked open, blue searching the space around her. She looked at Yasha, finally, and smiled a little. “Fuck.” she muttered, before Yasha let out a laugh, pulled her close, and kissed her. 

-

As far as deaths went, Beau’s wasn’t the worst. She’d been helped up from the hazy, cloud-coated ground by a dark haired man, with what she was fairly certain was antlers growing from his shoulder. He’d explained, speech broken like he was out of practice, that he was to take her to the raven queen so she could help her along. Beau turned back, looking for her friends. “But we have work left to do.” she said. “I still have to… I still need to… I have people who need me. I have to go back.” 

The man’s head tilted, like he was listening to something far off. “We can walk slow. Perhaps they will figure out how to return you.” 

Beau had struggled to remember her death. It all went black after the vision of Yasha. She knew she’d been alive at least an hour after that. But she couldn’t remember.

“That is a gift.” The figure’s cloak was shrouded in feathers. It looked pretty dope, really. “They are not good memories. They are hidden for now.”

Beau nodded. She didn’t like it, but it seemed like a weird thing to fight about. They wandered a while longer, the figure pretending he didn’t notice when Beau started dragging her feet even more severely. 

“Do you have a name?” Beau asked out of the blue.

He seemed perplexed. “I used to. Most people don’t call me by it now.” 

“Can I?” she asked, a wicked smile growing. It would be great to call the grim reaper something like ‘Tom,’ or 'Barry,' or something.

“Maybe. I will let you know.” He said. She couldn’t tell if he thought she was funny. Which annoyed her. 

They kept walking. “What happens next?” she asked. 

“It depends. It seems your friends will try and save you. I hope they do.”

Beau nodded a bit. “ Yeah. Me too.”

They arrived at the foot of the Raven Queen, her imposing figure, looking down. As she spoke her voice seemed to come from everywhere. “Beauregard Lionette. Your friends are setting up a ritual to save your life. Let us stay awhile and listen to them.” Beau nodded, and they did just that. 

Beau’s heart twisted and ached. She couldn’t help but laugh when Nott returned her bracelet. She wanted to sit up and hold Caleb when he called her sister. And when Yasha, voice soft and careful, told her she was what had kept her alive, Beau couldn’t help but feel her breath hitch. And when all was said and done, Beau turned to the Raven Queen and the shrouded figure at her feet. “I have to go back.” she said softly. 

The Raven Queen’s visage did not change, but Beau liked to think she smiled. “Then go back.” 

Beau looked to the figure for confirmation, and in the most human moment since she’d met him, he smiled, giving a small nod. “Thank you.” she called to him, feeling like he was distant. 

“It is my duty.” He replied, then for a moment, he seemed to ponder something. “My name is Vax’ildan. Your brother there, he owes me a feather.”

Beau tried for a moment to make rhyme or reason of that absolutely batshit statement, before she felt herself being pulled. It was a bit like floating, a moment where her soul wasn’t here or there. It just was. 

And then she slammed back to her body, with a vague memory of haze, feathers, and the name Vax’ildan etched into the back of her mind, nearly forgotten for the moment. Forgotten because Yasha was kissing her, because, as soon as Yasha pulled back, Caleb was moving to hug her, because the rest of her family was there too. There were more important things than names of shadowy figures. Beau let herself, still hurting, relax into the hold of her family, into their love, relax against where Yasha was holding her tight, and did a quiet headcount, before allowing her eyes to close, assured they were all there, safe, and alive.


End file.
